Mary Gilmore: A Little Ghost
The DayPoems Poetry Collection
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A Little Ghost

Born 8/16/1865


The moonlight flutters from the sky
         To meet her at the door,
A little ghost, whose steps have passed
         Across the creaking floor.

And rustling vines that lightly tap
         Against the window-pane,
Throw shadows on the white-washed walls
         To blot them out again.

The moonlight leads her as she goes
         Across a narrow plain,
By all the old, familiar ways
         That know her steps again.

And through the scrub it leads her on
         And brings her to the creek,
But by the broken dam she stops
         And seems as she would speak.

She moves her lips, but not a sound
         Ripples the silent air;
She wrings her little hands, ah, me!
         The sadness of despair!

While overhead the black-duck's wing
         Cuts like a flash upon
The startled air, that scarcely shrinks
         Ere he afar is gone.

And curlews wake, and wailing cry
         Cur-lew! cur-lew! cur-lew!
Till all the Bush, with nameless dread
         Is pulsing through and through.

The moonlight leads her back again
         And leaves her at the door,
A little ghost whose steps have passed
         Across the creaking floor.


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DayPoems Poem No. 965



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